


The Fandom from Hell

by spoky



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Vatya undertone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoky/pseuds/spoky
Summary: DISCLAIMER: This story is RPF, meaning that I use the star image of real people to tell a completely fictional story. It's not meant to offend or insult anyone. Please do not share my fiction with the people I write about on social media or otherwise. Thank you. (For full disclaimer, please see my profile.)Somedays the RPDR fandom really sucks. Fortunately there is an easy fix: reality check.





	1. Pretence

Trixie was sitting at the living room sofa, restringing her guitar, when a quiet click of the front door made her pay attention to her surroundings. The silence was suspicious.

“Jamin?” she called out and placed the guitar carefully on the coffee table.

There was no reply but she could hear someone moving in the apartment.

She’d gotten used to the different sounds of New York this week, and even learned to embrace Acid’s over enthusiastic greetings whenever the man got home from work. It wasn’t that Trixie didn’t like being cuddled, kissed and complemented. She just hadn’t expected Jamin to be that type of person and it had taken some days to get used to it. Before this week’s visit their relationship, if one could call it that, had consisted of quick hook-ups in different backstage toilets, dressing rooms and hotels - places and situations where Jamin’s character hadn’t necessarily been presented in the most positive or comprehensive ways.

“Jamin?” Trixie called again, now starting to wonder what to do if someone had actually broken into the apartment.

The bathroom door closed and Trixie could hear the tab being turned on. Either this thief had a complex case of OCD, or it really was Acid in the bathroom. She walked to the door and knocked gently.  
  
“Hey, you okay?” she said and hoped that if there really was an OCD-thief in the apartment, they weren’t carrying a gun.  
  
She could hear the thief clearing their throat, before revealing their identity as Trixie’s… _boyfriend?_ She wasn’t sure the label was appropriate but it would have to do.  
  
“Hey, yeah, I’m good. Just, just give a minute alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Trixie said and worried her lower lip. What had happened?

She listened the water running for what felt like hours but more likely was closer to a minute or two. When Jamin finally stepped out from the bathroom he was smiling widely, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes.  
  
“There!” he said brightly. “All done. Dinner?”

He walked straight into the kitchen, without giving Trixie the usual greeting hug or a kiss; both being gestures Trixie now realised she had grown accustomed to and wanted. She followed his steps with a suspicious frown.

“Yeah, I could eat,” she said and leaned to the kitchen counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “How was work?”

“Oh, it was great!”

Jamin launched into an explanation about their newest website client who seemed open for new, innovative solutions in regards to design.

“The possibilities are endless, there are so many different layers we can work with. We tried it with AJAX and it looks so good! Thought it makes more sense for it to be more CMS type of solution, but it was like stacking four pairs of 24 millimeter lashes and making sure it still works, you know?”

Trixie found it adorable how Jamin would move between makeup and coding lingo when he talked about his work. Though she hoped that the man wasn’t doing it in his office with customers. The fact that she was struggling to make sense of what Jamin was saying allowed her to pay more attention to the man himself and as he very discreetly wiped away a tear that had escaped, pretending to just scratch his nose, Trixie took notice.

“Heyheyhey,” she said gently, pushed Jamin against the stove and forced him to look at her. “What’s going on?”

Jamin swallowed and refused to meet her eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly.

“It’s clearly not nothing,” Trixie insisted and took Jamin’s face between her palms, stroking his stubble with her thumbs.

“I think I’m quitting,” Jamin said softly and closed his eyes.

“What?” Trixie asked, completely shocked. “You can’t quit, it’s your company. I mean I guess you could sell it, but…”

“No, I mean drag,” Jamin said peeked at Trixie between his lashes.

“Why would you do that?” Trixie asked, but had already a list in her mind of possible answers.

Jamin was silent, clearly not wanting to elaborate on what had happened.  
  
“Look, honey, you do drag for you, not for anyone else,” Trixie said and knew that the statement wasn’t entirely true. “It’s your art. It’s your way to express your emotions and your views, and if someone doesn’t like it, they are allowed that opinion, but their opinion doesn’t define you, or your art.”

Jamin pulled Trixie closer, wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned his chin against her shoulder.  
  
“I know.”

“I know you know. You just forgot for a moment.”

They stayed in the hug for a while longer but eventually Trixie sighed.  
  
“Look, I’m hungry. I want food, I want to finish restringing my guitar and I want your cock up my bum – preferably, but not necessarily, in that order. What do you say?”

Acid chuckled against Trixie’s neck and pressed an open mouthed kiss onto her collarbone.

“I’ll cook, you go string and I’ll see what we can do about the last part later,” he said, squeezing Trixie’s bum with both hands.  
  
“What an excellent distribution of labour,” Trixie smirked and kissed Jamin hard before walking back into the living room.

Somedays RuPaul’s Drag Race fans really fucking sucked, but fortunately the damage they caused was often easily fixed with a brief reality check.


	2. Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff for the sake of fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Lyrics from Big Bang - Sober ]  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AvJ40aW0-zM

Trixie stirred from her sleep and the digital alarm clock on the nightstand informed her it to be just over the witching hour. 4:15AM. 

She turned on the bed, intending to reach for Jamin, but found only wrinkly sheets and a missing pillow. Brushing her hand across the empty space, she wondered whether to try to fall back asleep or to get up and find him. He was probably just in the bathroom. 

Sighing, she fell on her back and kicked away the too hot duvet. Eyeing around in the dark and lying in the still a little unfamiliar bed felt absurd. Almost as absurd as giving it a go with someone like Acid Betty. 

Trixie had been sleeping in Acid's bed for a week now and would be sleeping another one if everything went well. Everything had been “going well” so to speak, but she didn’t really know what to think about the overall situation. Katya didn't think the relationship could work on the long run, and neither did Kim. Truthfully, Trixie was a little doubtful herself. Jamin Ruhen was nothing alike with the ideal boyfriend Trixie had imagined she would catch feelings for. She probably wouldn't have given the man a chance at all without Bob's offhand comment:

"Can't be weirder than the Zamo-Chachki dynamic, and what I've heard, the sex should be at least as good. Maybe less kinky, though."

In Trixie’s books less weird than the Zamo-Chachki tryst was a good thing --  _ fucking freaks _ \-- and so she had agreed to a date; one night in L.A. One night, which had been followed by breakfast and lunch, and eventually a second dinner, as Trixie had been introduced to the gentle and occasionally surprisingly insecure man behind the facade of Acid Betty. 

Trixie had slowly learned that while Violet Chachki came across as a bitch because she was, and owned it; Acid Betty came across as one because attack truly was the best defence, and occasionally because the man spoke before thinking. What Violet and Acid had in common was that neither was incapable of apologising or admitting that they were wrong, if given the chance to do so. 

Trixie glanced at the alarm. 4:19AM. 

 

 

* *

 

 

_ Stop acting like you’re all that _

_ You’re actually the most pathetic _

_ Yeah, try to provoke me even more _

_ So I can have some fun for a moment _

 

Acid stared at the Barbie doll across the room and took another sip of his PBR. Just in jeans and a red t-shirt Trixie Mattel didn't look nearly as intimidating as in her usual pink glad rags and war paint. That didn’t equate that he now thought her approachable, quite the opposite. He would probably never think Trixie Mattel in terms of “approachable”, and could only blame himself for that. He’d totally fucked up with the stunt he’d pulled at Untucked. What an earth had he been thinking? 

"I'm just going to assume that you have managed to flawlessly execute the “Begging for Barbie’s Pardon” -plan and rather than avoiding Trixie, are hiding in this corner because of a persistent race-chaser with an awful acne." 

Acid flipped Bob the finger, unamused.

"No?” Bob asked and laughed loudly. “Honestly, avoidance might be the best tactic. You could never keep up with her wit and would just make a fool out of yourself,  _ again _ . Better not to risk it," Bob continued and took a seat at the table. 

"Why are you here?" Acid sneered, annoyed. 

"To cheer you up! And to take the piss... But mostly to cheer you up!"

Acid snorted and took another sip of his beer. 

When he had two weeks ago asked Bob's opinion whether he should apologise Ms. Mattel in person, rather than just send a text, Bob had howled in laughter. Thorgy had been encouraging and Kim's advice had been to send the text. Kim had even provided him with Trixie's personal phone number to do so, but so far Acid had managed to do nothing with it. It wasn’t that he was scared, he just didn’t know what words to use. 

"So, how's the biz?" 

Acid glanced at Bob and cocked his eyebrows in question. 

"You want to talk about work?" he asked in disbelief. 

"No, I don't. But I don't know what else to talk about when you’re being like this." 

Acid snorted. 

"Look, I appreciate the concern but you don't have to make dry small talk just to keep me company," Acid said and stood up.

"I'll catch you later."

He left Bob alone and made his way to the smoking area. Some fresh air should clear his head right up. 

He stepped outside and was once again reminded of why he rarely visited gay clubs out of drag. There really was nothing worse than feeling self-conscious because of a gaze of a total stranger.

He had just talked himself into going back to the hotel and getting an early night in, when someone called out his name in the crowd. As he turned, he spotted Naomi in the corner with Kim and took a step forward before noticing that the pair was also accompanied by none other than Katya Zamolodchikova. Fuck. His step faltered and while he wanted to, he couldn't just turn on his heels and walk back inside. Suddenly Bob's small talk sounded like a very enjoyable alternative.

“Hey girl,” Naomi giggled and Acid could smell the sweet organic scent of the source of Naomi’s happiness. Kim passed the join back to Katya, who offered it to Acid with a smile that revealed nothing.

“Ah, thanks, but I’m just about to head off,” Acid declined politely and watched Katya shrug indifferently. 

“Oh, don’t go yet!” Naomi whined and pulled him into an awkward half hug. “Let’s have a drink at least, I haven’t talked to you in ages!” 

Acid was about to accept the invitation, but his words died on his lips as he heard a lazy drawl just behind him.

“He’s really sorry, Smalls, but he needs to get going. There’s a senior queens’ reading class tomorrow and he really can’t afford to miss it.”

Acid would recognise the voice of Trixie Mattel anywhere and as he turned, he could watch her walk up to them and cuddle up to Kim with a confident smirk. It was a clear challenge and he wasn’t ready for it.  _ At all _ . Why hadn’t he just stayed with Bob? He could've told him all about the new client who wanted a website in neon green! He knew he needed a witty comeback, but his brain refused to co-operate. 

“Yeah, I-um. She’s right, I really should go. I’ll catch you later, Naomi,” he said, turned and started walking back to the club.

“See you later, honey! Call me if you need any help with the alphabet!” 

Acid grimaced at the comment and stopped. He might not have been the best reader, especially not under pressure, and would probably never reach the same easy flow with the art as Trixie Mattel, but he did have his moments. He turned back to the group and pulled out his mobile as he walked up to Trixie. 

“That’s so generous. So, what’s your number?”

Trixie shot him a completely confused look, but as Acid just kept waiting with his phone out, she eventually blurted out the digits.

“Thanks man, truly appreciate it,” Acid said, pretending to save the number. Then he paused, looked up to Trixie and asked as genuinely as he possibly could: “And what’s your name again?”

Katya and Naomi both shrieked out a laugh and Kim snorted some vodka-coke out of her nostrils. Trixie stared at Acid for a while before also chuckling.

“Not bad,” she said and smiled a smile so fucking beautiful Acid knew immediately that he was fucked. Fucking shit mother-fucker. He really should’ve just stayed inside with Bob.

 

_ They say love is good, friendship is good _

_ But be warned, the back of your head might be in pain _

 

It was months later and the first time Acid Betty had been booked into the same venue as Trixie Mattel. Jamin was nervous. He hadn’t seen the Barbie since the season eight finale after party and while they had parted in good terms, he was still little unsure of his relationship with her. He hadn’t managed to send her any apologies, or asked for reading help for that matter, and they never interacted on social media like Trixie did with other RuGirls. He just simply didn’t know whether they were friends or not.

Jamin had just started to spray paint Acid onto himself when Trixie arrived to the dressing room with a heavy looking suitcase. He hurried to help her with the door and got a grateful smile as a thank you.

“I need a personal assistant,” Trixie sighed and took a seat at the dresser, next to Acid’s acrylic paint bottles. She glanced over the assemble of colours and then at Jamin who had orange stars running on his collarbone.

“How did you even start with this stuff?” Trixie asked and picked up one of the bottles, examining it carefully.

Jamin was little taken aback by the question. People usually just told him that air-brush guns did not belong into Drag Queen makeup assortment and left it at that. Trixie however showed genuine interest, which he assumed to be purely professional, the doll was a makeup artist after all. 

“I saw someone do it and stole the idea,” Jamin said and shrugged. “Most people use makeup paint, but it’s just not bright enough for me, like, at least the brands I’ve tried.”

“Huh,” Trixie shrugged and eyed the gun on the dresser. 

“Do you want to try?”

Jamin didn’t know what had possessed him to ask but the excited glow in Trixie’s eyes told him that he’d made the right choice.

“Yes GOD!” Trixie sing-songed and picked up the gun.

Jamin was a little impressed how quickly the Barbie learned the technique. A lot faster than what he himself had back at the day. 

After the show, when Jamin was packing up his things, some of the local queens asked Trixie whether she’d like to join them for a night out. Trixie turned to Jamin and asked if he was going. 

“I’m not really into the scene,” Jamin admitted. He wouldn’t have minded some trade but hooking up on Grindr was so much easier than hunting in a club. At least on the app you didn’t have to deal with the completely appalled looks when you offered to buy a drink for someone who considered themselves out of your league. 

“No? A beer at my hotel bar then?” Trixie asked and took Jamin by surprise the second time that evening.

“Um, yeah. Why not,” he nodded and licked his lips. This was going to be interesting. 

 

_ Hey doctor doctor, please save me _

_ Because I’m about to go insane _

_ Stop trying to awkwardly chance the subject _

_ It’s hard for me to be sober _

_ I can’t do anything _

 

 

“So you just had a couple of drinks?”

Jamin nodded and watched Thorgy pace back and forth in the kitchen, spatula in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He might’ve played down the amount of alcohol slightly, but as he didn’t want to admit the number of drinks he’d downed with Trixie even to himself, he certainly wasn’t going to tell the number to Thorgy. 

“And then she invited you up.”

Jamin nodded again. The story really made even less sense if one reduced the alcohol variable so significantly.

“And despite that you had an invitation to her room, you ended up sucking her off in a public bathroom and walking off with a throbbing hard on?”

Yes, Jamin nodded in confirmation. That was exactly what had happened, and it had been so fucking hot.

“Why an earth would you not go up to her room?”

Jamin shrugged. He couldn’t explain it either. One moment Trixie had asked him to come up, the second she’d been excusing herself to the bathroom “real quick” and before Jamin had been able to make any sense of the situation, they’d been kissing in the toilet cubicle and Jamin had gotten onto his knees.

Afterwards he’d made multiple contradictory excuses to escape the scene, because in reality, unlike how he was telling the story now, he’d made a mess of himself inside of his boxer shorts. He wasn’t going to tell Thorgy that, or Trixie. Men in their late thirties did not cum just by sucking someone else’s cock, teenagers did.

“So, are you going to see her again?”

Jamin shrugged again. He had no idea and the mere possibility that he’d have to explain his previous behaviour to Trixie was simultaneously absolutely terrifying and mortifying. How did he end up being such a screw up? 

 

_ I seem like an adult but I’m really a child that’s really tall _

_ My young dreams are just faded fantasies _

_ My mood is like a vast wilderness _

 

The man moaned underneath Jamin as he pushed into him. So _ tight _ . He thrust couple of times before having to stop to readjust his position slightly. Dark, long limbs sprawled on the bed and as Jamin kept pounding into the man, a picture of a country cowboy rose to his mind. It was a little ridiculous how easily Brian Firkus’ smile made him distracted. He really needed to stop jerking off to the pictures he’d found online.

“Oh yeah, give it to me!”

The fantasy was shattered as the man spoke up and rather than finding his begging encouraging, Jamin got annoyed. 

“Shut up,” he snapped and knew that he was being a dick.

It took him twice the time and effort to find release. 

 

 

_ Get drunk, get drunk, go to heaven _

_ After I wake, I’m in hell, I don’t last long _

_ I’m like Popeye without spinach _

_ The laughter bomb tempts me _

 

 

It was winter in New York and the only reason Jamin was in the backstage of the comedy club, his cock in between of a pair of lips that still supported a faint trace of pink lipstick, was Trixie’s earlier text message: “The offer still stands.”

It had taken Jamin some time to figure out what the Barbie meant by the cryptic message, but eventually he’d remembered that she had offered to teach him to read.

“Should I bring anything?”

“No. Just be on time.”

As soon as Jamin had arrived, Trixie had pulled him inside the dressing room, locked the door and gotten to work. Jamin appreciated the enthusiasm and as he came into the Barbie’s mouth, he hit the back of his head to the wall and hissed in pain. 

“You okay?” Trixie asked whilst getting up from the floor and leaning in for a kiss.

“More than,” Jamin answered with a smile.

He could taste himself on her tongue.

 

_ It’s hard for me to be sober _

_ I can’t do anything _

_ I hate being sober _

_ I can’t fall asleep without you _

 

Bob grabbed the bottle from Jamin’s hand and placed it on the floor. It was a tiny miracle that the man hadn’t injured himself on the stairs up to Bob’s apartment. Actually, it was a tiny miracle that the man had been able to walk up the stairs to begin with.

Looking at the passed out figure on the sofa, Bob couldn’t but to wonder if he’d ever fall for someone like that, so hard that he couldn’t handle it. Jamin’s rant about “a friend” who had caught very inconvenient feelings for a colleague hadn’t fooled Bob one bit. After all, he had just couple of months ago witnessed Trixie’s drunken confessions over how weird it was to daydream of a romantic relationship with a guy twelve years your senior and whom you had absolutely nothing in common with. By that point, of course, Bob had already known, amongst most other RuGirls, that Trixie Mattel and Acid Betty had been fucking for months in the broom closets and accessible toilets of every venue they’d been booked in together -- and apparently also some they hadn't.

"Can't be weirder than the Zamo-Chachki dynamic, and what I've heard, the sex should be at least as good. Maybe less kinky, though," Bob had told Trixie at the time, not thinking it his responsibility to play cupid.

It seemed, however, that the pair was incapable of taking any serious steps on their own, and so Bob decided to play mother hen. Blackmail, bribery and threats formed the holy trinity of parenting and he decided to start with threats, merely because it was the cheapest option. He grabbed a black marker pen, lifted Jamin’s shirt up and wrote to his chest with big block capitals: 

 

“I will ask Tracy Martel out on a date or Bob will spank me.”

Bob later learned that the waterproof marker he had chosen only came off with specific cleaning products. Luckily for Acid, he was familiar with all kinds of tricky art stains.

 

_ Without you, I’m still left alone here _

_ I’m waiting for you, only believing in you _

_ But I’m a fool, no no no _

 

 

**Jamin:** Would you like to go out sometime?

**Brian:** Like, as a date?

**Jamin:** Yeah.

**Brian:** Ok.

**Jamin:** You don’t sound very enthusiastic? 

**Brian:** I’m not.

**Jamin:** Ok...

**Brian:** I mean… I think it’s a bad idea.

**Jamin:** Ok, well, we don’t have to.

  
Jamin wasn't going to lie to himself, he was disappointed.

**  
Jamin:** You could’ve just said no.

**Brian:** I didn’t want to.

  
Jamin had nothing to say to that. 

**  
Brian:** Can I think it over? 

**Jamin:** Sure. 

 

Jamin stared at the three dots that blinked on his phone screen but Brian didn’t reply him that evening, or even the following day. It took Brian Firkus three whole days to contact him again. 

 

**Brian:** I’m a prick. Forgive me?

**Jamin:** No it’s alright.

**Brian:** You still up for it?

**Jamin:** The date? Yeah.

**Brian:** Great. L.A. as you’ll be here next week, right? Dinner? 

**Jamin:** Sure.

 

_ It’s hard for me to be sober _

_ I can’t do anything _

_ I hate being sober _

_ I can’t fall asleep without you _

 

 

* *

 

The digits on the alarm changed to 4:25 and Brian sighed. He knew he should go check on Jamin, but the bed was so incredibly comfortable and he was tired. He was just about to reach for the night light when the bedroom door opened and Jamin tiptoed in.

Brian watched him place his laptop on the desk before making his way to the bed.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch the duvet. It’s like a fucking sauna in here.”

Jamin startled at the words.

“Jesus, you scared me,” he chuckled and laid next to Brian, sliding his feet underneath the duvet. 

“Where were you?” Brian asked, lifting his right arm to make space for Jamin who was inching closer.

“I got this idea for one of Betty’s looks and couldn’t sleep through it,” Jamin said as he snuggled to Brian’s side and wrapped an arm around his chest.

“And you were not reading any of the negativity on Reddit or on your Instagram?” 

There was a heavy silence. Brian took a deep breath and placed his hand on Jamin’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. 

“It would be really cool if you could stop lying to me,” Brian whispered and he could feel Jamin tense up. The man was barely breathing, most likely trying to stop existing through mere will power. “I know we haven’t been "a thing" for long, but you know, let’s try not to fuck it up immediately?”

Jamin nodded, but stayed silent for a while.

“I just...”

When he didn’t finish his sentence, Brian turned his head to drop a light kiss on his forehead.

“Didn’t want to reveal too soon that you’re a human being? Trust me, I get it, I’ve made a career out of being a doll from Toys R Us.”

There was another silence and Brian wondered whether he’d ever get used to them, having a tendency to usually surround himself with people that constantly had something to say.

“I’m really sorry about that one time, you know, I really didn’t get the Barbie reference before it was explained to me...”

Brian smiled. It was the first time Jamin clearly addressed the Untucked-fiasco between them. They had danced around the subject before, but never really discussed it. He had personally figured that it was just good television and moved on. He certainly had no issues with it, but apparently Jamin felt like he needed to apologise. It was kind of adorable.

“Oh, hooney! My drag could be based on Mr. Snuffleupagus and you still couldn’t read me!”

The comment made Jamin laugh and Brian pulled him closer. It definitely wasn't any weirder than than the Zamo-Chachki -dynamic.


End file.
